Ten Count
by Contaminatedxxx
Summary: Lovino Vargas has a problem. Or, at least, Antonio Carriedo thinks he does. When meeting each other after getting in a minor car crash, Antonio notices that Lovino has Mysophobia. Being a therapist at a respected clinic, Antonio offers to help him with his obsessive-compulsive disorder. Things get tricky when Lovino decides to accept his offer.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 _This is based off of the manga Ten Count by Takarai Rihito._

 _Sadly, I didn't think they portrayed OCD accurately and I didn't like how the plot progressed... But I loved story idea, so I'm rewriting it the way I thought it should have turned out._

 _(I'm mostly just rewriting this for myself because I want to.)_

 _I DECIDED TO MAKE THIS SPAMANO BECAUSE WHY NOT._

 _**Contains strong language because Romano. May be triggering for sufferers of OCD. Mention of blood and open wounds. Mild violence._

 _This is a fairly short chapter, as it is sort of an introduction to the story. I hope you enjoy it!_

 _Feel free to correct and spelling, grammar, or translation mistakes. I would love feedback on this story, as well. Thank you for reading!_

—

There was the loud sound of screeching brakes, and suddenly Lovino Vargas had an airbag in his face. He sucked in a large gulp of air, frantically pushing it down as his mind tried to process what had just happened.

"Lo siento mucho, señor!" said a voice outside of his window. Lovino rubbed his sore neck, cursing as he turned to see a face staring at him through his window.

"Che cazzo!" Lovino yelped, jumping in his seat. The man outside stepped away from the car apologetically.

Lovino took a few deep breaths before unbuckling himself and exiting the car. He moved to check the damage, and groaned at what he saw. The bumper of his Fiat was practically fully detatched, and his license plate was completely smashed. It was a wonder he didn't have any serious injuries as far as he knew.

"What the fuck? You destroyed my car!" Lovino shouted.

"Lo siento mucho, señor. Are you hurt?" asked the man. He seemed to be in his late twenties. The man was tall and tan, with deep green eyes much like Lovino's and curly, chocolate-colored hair. The only injury he could see was a cut over his eyebrow, but he looked otherwise unscathed.

"I'm fine, shut up," Lovino hissed with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Let me give you my contact information," said the man. Lovino groaned. His head was pounding, and he felt slightly dizzy.

"Aquí." The green-eyed man handed him a card.

Lovino flinched, retracting his hand as quickly as if he'd burnt it. He didn't mean to—it was just a reflex.

"S—Shit," Lovino stuttered, straightening his tie. The man furrowed his eyebrows.

"Do you have *Mysophobia?" he asked.

"Do I—what?"

"Do you have Mysophobia? It seems like a fairly severe case, so you should see a doctor about it," he said.

Lovino paused, trying not to lose his temper. "Why would you think that?" he asked brusquely.

"You flinched when I tried to hand you my card, and you're wearing gloves. There's blood seeping through the fabric, so I assume your hands are rubbed raw from washing them incessantly," the man explained.

Lovino swallowed hard, his mouth set in a firm line. "Why is that any of your business, ya bastard? I'm fine this way. Fuck off," he snapped. He was suddenly very defensive, as he felt extremely violated. But, the green-eyed male smiled, holding up a tissue he had retrieved from a plastic packet in his satchel. He reached into his pocket, pinching the card between his fingers and the tissue.

"There," he said gently, handing it to Lovino again. "Mira, I didn't touch it with my bare skin." Give me a call if you ever need any help with anything at all."

Lovino snatched it from him with a shaky hand.

Antonio Fernández Carriedo LCSW

(***)-***-****

"Um, thank you... Mr. Carriedo," said Lovino.

He touched it. He still touched it. He touched the tissue, which touched the card. My hands itch. It's stuck to my skin. I need to wash my hands. I need to get it off.

"Just Antonio is fine. I hope you'll consider my offer, señor." Antonio grinned, and Lovino felt his heart skip a beat. Stonato heart. He had a small scar on his bottom lip that stretched out when he smiled, Lovino noticed.

"Lovino."

"What?" Antonio inquired.

"It's—my name is Lovino. Lovino Vargas."

"Ah, is that Italian? I could tell by your accent. Pleasure to meet you, Lovino."

Lovino rolled his eyes and scoffed. The situation had become slightly awkward after a few moments of silence, so they bid their farewells while Lovino watched as Antonio drove off.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number to call a tow truck, but he couldn't get the image of that shocking smile out of his head.

It was seriously pissing him off.

*Mysophobia, also known as verminophobia, germophobia, germaphobia, bacillophobia and bacteriophobia, is a pathological fear of contamination and germs. The term was coined by Dr. William Alexander Hammond in 1879 when describing a case of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) exhibited in repeatedly washing one's hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Lovino removed his coat and shoes at the door, like always.

He tossed his gloves into the washing machine, like always.

He stepped into the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, like always.

He wiped the handle on the faucet with an alcohol wipe, turned it, and rinsed his hands under the water, like always.

He lathered his hands in soap and used the brush sitting on the side of the sink to scrub his hands, like always.

He scrubbed his hands for fifteen minutes, like always.

He watched as the blood from the wounds on his hands mixed with sink water, like always.

He turned off the water and cleansed the wounds with alcohol wipes, like always.

He dried his hands with a paper towel, like always.

He looked at the mirror and was disgusted by what he saw...

Like always.

His hands were sore, and every time he tried to move his fingers it stung like someone was slicing a fresh wound open. However, it was a small price to pay. Lovino felt that if he didn't follow his daily routine that something terrible would happen.

He would feel disgusting until he did it. The feeling wouldn't leave until he rubbed his hands raw, and even then some of it still lingered. His head would scream at him until he finally gave into it. Sometimes the fear felt irrational... But nevertheless, he still had to do it.

But... Maybe if he went to see a doctor, he would be able to quiet the thoughts in his head.

His morning hygiene routine was much the same.

He would wash his hands.

He would brush his teeth, gums, and tongue for fifteen minutes, then spit out blood in the sink.

He would gargle Listerine for at least five minutes, then spit out the remaining blood in his mouth.

He would disinfect the sink.

He would shower, dress, slip his gloves on, and leave the apartment.

He had decided to see the doctor today, but he had no idea what to expect.

Would they make him throw his gloves away?

Would they make him shake hands with them?

Would they make him face his fears?

Just the thought of all of those things made him feel like he was suffocating. He took a shaky breath, stepping out of the elevator he had entered just moments before.

Lovino made his way towards the clinic and tried not to brush shoulders with people as they passed by him. Brushing shoulders wasn't as bad as shaking hands, but it still made him feel dirty. Just thinking about it made him feel like...

Oh no, he needed to was his hands.

Lovino quickly changed his path and ran into the nearest building. Apparently, the staff at Subway didn't appreciate people running into their store, because a few people gasped as he dashed to the bathroom.

He took his gloves off and shoved them in his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a male figure a few sinks down from him, but he ignored it. His mind was so clouded with anxiety that he didn't care if it was Monica Bellucci.

Lovino lathered his hands in soap and scrubbed them as hard as he could, but the feeling of filth wouldn't disappear from his skin.

"Come on, come on," he whispered desperately, wincing as the water turned pink. "Please get off of me."

"Be a little gentler with yourself, Lovi."

Lovino looked up quickly, splattering water and blood onto the counter.

"Antonio?" Lovino blurted incredulously.

"That's my name," Antonio said, nodding. Lovino could see Antonio's eyes drifting to his bloodied hands, and he suddenly felt very self-conscious. That feeling quickly shifted to anger.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Lovino asked roughly, turning back to the sink. He continued to scrub at his hands, but it was more of an unconscious motion this time.

"Well, I came here for a sandwich. I hope this is Subway... Or maybe I walked into the wrong shop. Do you know where we are?" Antonio offered a smile.

"Oh? I didn't really see where I was going, I just—I had to—"

"Wash your hands?"

There was a pause.

"Yes," Lovino admitted begrudgingly.

"And what would happen if you didn't wash them?"

Another pause.

"I... I don't..." Lovino could feel that suffocating sensation come over him again. His legs felt weak and his head felt light. "I don't know," he said finally. He tried not to let his anxiety show, but his voice betrayed him as it shook when he spoke.

"Here. Dry your hands," said Antonio, gesturing to the paper towel dispenser on the wall. Lovino wanted to tell him to shut up, but instead he ripped a sheet off and dried his hands, then removed a bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket.

"Don't do that," Antonio told him. Lovino snarled at him, shooting him a defensive look.

"Don't do that yet. You were coming to see me, right? At the clinic?"

Lovino nodded reluctantly.

"Then that means you want help. We can start your treatment right now."

"Here?" Lovino inquired.

"Yes, here. The first task is for you to touch the doorknob."

The shorter male looked hesitant, but he slowly reached into his pocket to retrieve his gloves.

"Leave your gloves off. Try opening the door without them," Antonio said gently. His tone was soft, as if he were speaking to a frightened animal or a small child.

"I can't," said Lovino. He took a step back, shaking his head with wide eyes. "I can't do that. I don't know who's touched that—or—or when someone disinfected it last—if ever."

"Hush, it's okay. Just try putting your hand on it for three seconds." Antonio moved towards the door and placed his hand around the doorknob for three beats before pulling it away.

"See? I'm okay. Just count to three. You'll be okay."

Lovino took a deep breath. He hadn't prepared himself for anything like this today, but despite that, he approached the door. Lovino could see his hand trembling as it hovered over the doorknob. The skin was red, flaky, and covered in cuts and scabs. It was extremely unappealing, and even more unsanitary. The germs from the doorknob would surely get inside the wounds and cause an infection. He needed to wash his hands again before he did it, and especially after.

 _Fuck this_ , he thought.

"Lovino."

Antonio's voice cut through his thoughts. The only sound that could be heard was the dripping faucet and Lovino's shaky breathing.

"You can do it," said Antonio.

" _Stai zitto_ ," Lovino replied, holding his breath as he wrapped his hand around the doorknob.

He held it for _uno_... _Due_... _Tre_...

Lovino turned around quickly, but Antonio arm was blocking his path.

He gasped, stopping very suddenly.

"It's okay, I won't touch you. But don't wash them," he said firmly. His expression was hard, but sympathetic.

"But, I—" Lovino looked down at his hands to find that they were shaking even more violently than before.

He imagined a black mass eroding his skin and crawling into the cuts on his hands. The mass would hide in the wounds, and Lovino would have to pick them open to get it out. With every moment that ticked by, the mass seeped deeper into his flesh, and Lovino knew that he would have to scrub even harder to get it off now. It would spread to the rest of his body until his skin was disgusting, black, and decayed.

"I have to," Lovino said. "Move, _testa di cazzo!_ I feel disgusting, I need to get it off or it'll spread."

Antonio sighed, but he dropped his hands to his sides. Lovino moved swiftly to the sink and began digging his nails into the raw flesh so he could unearth the contaminants that hid under his skin. The cold water from the sink helped ease the pain, but the soap still stung. That meant it was working, though. It was cleaning out the little germs that hid deep in the wounds.

"I'll go find us a table," said Antonio. He took one last look at Lovino before exiting the bathroom.

"Can I get two bottles of water?" he asked the woman at the cash register. "Anything else?"

"No, that'll be all, thank you." He paid the girl and found the cleanest table in the small restaurant, setting one of the water bottles of the opposite side of the table and keeping one for himself.

Approximately twenty minutes later, Lovino finally approached the table and sat across from Antonio. His head was down, and his hands were under the hidden in his lap under the table. He seemed to have calmed down slightly, which Antonio was glad to see. He just wished Lovino would find a better way to sooth himself.

"Are you okay with restaurants?" Antonio asked.

"Fuck off."

"Are you mad at me?"

" _Vaffanculo_."

"Well, then would you mind answering a few questions for me?"

He hesitated for a moment, but Lovino nodded.

"Alright. You don't have to answer these if you don't want to, you know. Have you ever thought about getting treatment for your obsessive-compulsive disorder before?" he asked.

"I don't have OCD," Lovino snapped.

"Okay," Adam said to him with a smile.

"Continue with your _stonato_ questions."

"Would you say that there are thoughts in your head that won't go away?"

"Yeah." Lovino broke eye contact and glanced at the untouched water bottle on the table.

"Are there a lot of things that you're afraid to do?"

Lovino swallowed hard, nodding. "Yes," he grumbled. "There are."

"I see. Do you happen to have a notebook with you, Lovino?"

"I think so." Lovino laid a napkin out on the table and set a small pocket notebook that he had retrieved from his satchel on top of it.

"Okay," said Antonio. "In your notebook, write down ten things that you're scared to do. One being the most doable, and ten being the thing that seems impossible for you to do."

Lovino looked at him, and Antonio could see the reluctancy in his eyes. It would be like giving a man he just met the power to destroy him.

"It's okay, I'm not going to judge you or force you to do any of these things. I just want to get a grasp on what we need to be working on," Antonio said.

Minutes later, Lovino turned the notebook around for him to see.

1\. Touch a doorknob.

2\. Let other people touch my things.

3\. Buy a book at a bookstore.

4\. Hold the straps on a train.

5\. Eat at a restaurant.

6\. Shake hands with someone with bare hands.

7\. Carry other people's things without disinfecting them first.

8\. Drink after someone else.

9\. Let someone into my room.

10.

"You left number ten blank," Antonio pointed out. Lovino squirmed in his seat, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Um..." He felt very vulnerable and exposed. Telling someone his worst fears like this was violating.

"That's alright. I'll allow you to leave ten blank for now, but we're going to work down this list starting from number one again."

"What?" Lovino exclaimed.

"It's exposure therapy. Ever heard of that before? Once we reach number ten, you'll be able to live your life almost normally." Antonio revealed that wonderful smile of his as his lips parted. It was a comforting smile that made everything seem like it was going to be okay.

"There aren't many customers in here today. Would you like to start again right now? Try touching the doorknob again," he said.

"I'll try it. I... Have to touch it with my bare hands, right?"

Antonio nodded. "That's right."

"And... I can't wash them afterwards?"

"That's right."

"Fuck."

Lovino gathered his things and got up from his seat to approach the door.

"Okay. I'm touching the doorknob now," he said.

"You can do it."

"It's perfectly clean. There are no germs on it," Lovino murmured to himself. He could see the greasy smudged fingerprints on the metal. He could see the handprints and the filth that would crawl under his skin.

"There's nothing on the door knob."

Lovino wrapped his hand around it for

 _Uno_...

 _Due_...

 _Tre_...

And suddenly he was outside, gasping for breath crouching with his hands on his knees. He'd opened the door.

" _Alucinante!_ " he heard Antonio say. The ground looked like it was moving underneath his feet.

" _Fantástico_ , Lovino. Just take a moment to catch your breath. It's okay. _Muy bueno._ "

Lovino nodded, trying to slow his breathing. He could feel the germs squirming on his hands, and it made his stomach churn as he straightened his posture to meet eyes with the other male.

"You did very well. Now, if you don't wash your hands after this, you'll have completed the first task. Keep doing this every time you have to open a door. You did well, Lovino," said Antonio. He was smiling again.

"I... Feel disgusting. It makes me feel sick," Lovino mumbled, examining his hands. It felt like parasites were crawling into his wounds and squirming around in them.

"I know it does, but your hands aren't dirty," he promised. "You can put your gloves back on if you want. You just started the treatment, so that's okay okay for now."

Lovino's hands went to his pocket, but he stopped.

 _If I wear my gloves with dirty hands, I'll have to throw them away. It'll trap the germs in them... But I have an extra pair in my satchel, so I guess it's fine for now—_

Antonio was watching him with genuine concern.

"Are you feeling disgusted with yourself?" he asked softly. His voice was so kind and caring that Lovino felt obliged to answer.

"Very. I don't like it," he complained.

"I know it feels bad now, but when we start working it will gradually become easier. Let's meet here on Sunday next week, and from there we'll evaluate your condition. I'll get back to you later about a time that's good for both of us. How does that sound?"

"Fine. Whatever," Lovino mumbled.

Antonio retrieved his bike and said goodbye to him, and then Evan was left all alone with his thoughts.

 _They're getting into my hands. The germs are hiding in my wounds. I need to get them out. Right now._

Lovino felt dizzy again, and his heart was fluttering madly in his chest like a caged bird.

"It's okay," he told himself quietly.

"There are only ten things that I need to do."


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 _Thanks to everyone who gave me feedback on my first two chapters! Someone suggested that I slow the story down, so that's what I'm trying to do. I guess I just got really excited to write and kind of sped through everything. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I read a fanfiction yesterday about OCD, and people kept commenting about how "cute" it was that the character had to say "I love you" twenty times because of his OCD. It infuriates me to see that people think those things, because it's a really hard disorder to deal with. Anyway, that's just my opinion. Enjoy the chapter!_

—

Antonio seemed to be ignoring Lovino at this point. They hadn't spoken in over a week, and he wondered if he was ignoring him. _That's really fucking immature for a therapist to do_ , Lovino thought. Not that he _wanted_ to see Antonio again. Lovino was fine living the way he had been before he crashed into that stupid bastard. The only reason he was going through with all this therapy stuff was so he could function normally in life.

As he had gotten older, Lovino noticed that it had become harder and harder to do things. The first time he'd let a girl in his home, he had to turn the lights on and off fifteen times before finally taking her coat from her and hanging it up by the doorway. After that, he'd never let anyone come into his apartment. When he was appointed "Door Holder" for the week in preschool, he always had to close the doors a certain number of times before finally closing them. That was the first symptom he'd ever experienced as a child. He noticed that if he didn't follow these rituals, his body would feel disgusting and contaminated. Crippling anxiety would overwhelm him as he had to touch that door knob, and he would have to sanitize his hands afterwards. The teachers just treated him as if he was just a troublemaker, and none of them took the time to actually ask him about it. They were too busy yelling at him.

When he was in high school, it was even harder. Lovino and his brother Feliciano were new transfer students from Italy, so of course everyone wanted to be friends with them. They wanted to know all about Italy and what their culture was like. Most people just wanted to hear them talk because they thought he had a neat foreign accent. Girls tried to flirt with him, which made Lovino extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand, Feliciano enjoyed being fawned over. He had a crowd of women (and some men) surrounding him at all times. They were curious and fascinated by them.

That was when Lovino developed his aggressive attitude. In order to keep people away from him, he had to act like he was angry at everyone. He wanted to make people scared of him so that they would leave him alone… and it worked. When people made eye contact with him in the hall, they would immediately avert their gaze. People were terrified to be around Lovino in fear that he would hurt them either physically or emotionally. It was a lonely life to live, but a safe one. If Lovino had to push people away to keep himself safe, then so be it.

In college, his thoughts took a darker turn. He wondered what kind of career he would have—if any. The prospect of getting a job with his "problem" seemed hopeless. Everything seemed hopeless at that point. Washing his hands and doing things repeatedly was starting to get tedious, and it interfered with his school work. He was failing classes because he stayed up late flipping pages in textbooks several times when he was supposed to be studying. He pushed people away when they offered to help him, and he even made a few enemies. Everything seemed gray to him. He didn't have anyone to support him, because he wouldn't let anyone support him. It was a vicious cycle that was tearing him apart and sending him spiraling into oblivion.

Lovino soon decided to go to law school. It seemed like a job that paid well, and he didn't; have to touch too many people. Eventually he got a job as a lawyer. There was very limited physical contact, except for when he had to shake hands with someone. However, he always wore a fake sling on his arm when clients came into his office so he would have an excuse as to why he couldn't shake their hand. His coworkers thought it was very strange, but most of them didn't question it. If they did, he just told them he had fragile bones. The majority of people stopped talking to him after that, thinking he was strange.

There was one instance when a client had turned up in his office by surprise and had given him a full-on hug. Lovino had managed to make an excuse and quickly rush to the bathroom. Luckily he had extra clothes in the trunk of his car just for occasions like that, but he couldn't imagine what he would have done if he hadn't had a change of clothes. Lovino would have probably had to drive himself home and left his client in his office. It was much better now, but it was still a huge hassle to have to do things like that. That was probably the reason why he was asking Antonio for help. As much as he hated it, he knew it was necessary in order for him to continue to go about his life. He was tired of getting weird looks from strangers. He longed for a normal life, but it seemed impossible to obtain. If he cooperated with Antonio's therapy, would things be better for him? All of it was frightening.

Maybe that was why Antonio had been avoiding him. Maybe he was a lost cause. Maybe he thought Lovino was just too much for him to handle. It would make sense—their first few interactions had been fairly intense. But regardless, Antonio was a therapist, and Lovino was his patient. He should call him again and schedule another appointment. Perhaps he would talk to Antonio about it then.

Two days later, Lovino met Antonio at his office. The setting was rather homey and had pictures of family and friends surrounding his desk. A bookcase stood against a wall, and a long black couch leaned against another. It looked almost nothing like the therapist's offices he'd seen in movies. When he sat on the couch, Antonio took a chair in front of him.

"So," Antonio began. "How has the past week been? We haven't spoken much since the last time we met. Has anything come up that you want to talk about?"

"Not exactly," Lovino lied. "I don't really care. I don't even want to be here."

"And yet you came," Antonio pointed out. An awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments. Lovino was torn between getting angry like he usually would or just telling him the truth.

"Yeah, because I want to be able to do shit without freaking out. I'd like to be able to take a girl to a restaurant every once in a while without having to worry about her kissing me or the germs I the food and on the table."

Antonio looked surprised. "Oh, so you're straight?"

Lovino felt his cheeks burn, and he knew he must look like some sort of angry tomato. "Of course I'm straight, you fuckface! What did you think?"

He just laughed, shaking his head as he scribbled something down on a notepad. "Nothing. Don't mind me. Continue, please," said Antonio.

Lovino huffed, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "Fuck off. I'm not talking anymore."

"Oh, come on! _Por favor?_ I won't say anything else," he promised. His face was contorted as if he was trying not to laugh. Lovino noticed how the crinkles around his eyes almost made the emerald in his irises look even more bright.

"No, I think I'm done for today. That's the most I've ever told anyone about my OCD, though. Besides my brother," Lovino muttered. _So he admitted that he has obsessive-compulsive disorder,_ Antonio thought to himself. Lovino observed as Antonio scrawled something down on that intimidating notepad of his.

"Tell me about your brother," said the therapist.

"Mmm… he's much more optimistic than I am, which is annoying. He's an annoying person in general."

"Could that be jealousy? Because he's happy and you're not?" he asked.

"I never said I wasn't happy," Lovino disagreed. "And I'm definitely not jealous of him. I'm just not the most optimistic person in the world. He's also gay, which I am _not_." Antonio chuckled at his defensive tone. "He… he gets along with people really well, and never has a problem making friends wherever he goes. He even has a husband."

"Do you want to get along with people?" Antonio inquired. His expression seemed deeply sympathetic, but he looked fully engaged in the conversation. It made Lovino angry to be pitied, because it was unusual. Normally people were too scared to even talk to him about his family life.

"I just want to be able to communicate with people effectively at work," he grumbled.

"Oh? What's your job?"

"I'm a lawyer." He paused while Antonio's lips curled up into an irritating grin.

"You don't really seem like a lawyer, but I can tell that you like to argue." He shifted in his seat.

"Shut up. You don't even know me that well."

"Lovino, I've seen cases like yours hundreds of times. I know you much better than you think, _mi amor_. You put up a hard wall to keep others out so that you don't get hurt. You're purposely rude to people, because you're afraid to be rejected. You're jealous that your brother gets all of the attention, yet you act bitter and continue to push people away. It's not abnormal to act like this, Lovino. There are so many people out there like you! You—"

" _Stai zitto!_ " Lovino shouted. His chest rose and fell quickly as he tried to regain his composure. Tears stung at his eyes and threatened to spill down his cheeks as he sighed. " _Per_ _piacere_. Please. I don't want to hear what you have to say anymore."

All that Lovino had done to push people away seemed to be crumbling down before him. The lies, the shouting, the insults, all of it. He felt vulnerable and exposed to this man. He brushed the wetness from his eyes with a shaky hand, biting down on his lower lip to prevent it from trembling.

"You're very right. That was my fault. I really shouldn't have said the things that I did. That must have been hurtful to hear, and very invalidating," Antonio said softly. He really did look sorry, but Lovino was not one to forgive easily.

"I'm going back home. This isn't helping me at all," he mumbled, getting to his feet. All he wanted to do was go home, wash up, and then sleep for about six months. The whole therapy thing wasn't exactly his cup of tea.

"Well, I hope I'll see you next week, huh?" Antonio tried. Lovino just shook his head and let out a long breath.

"Sure. Maybe. I'm not quite sure yet," he replied feebly. He both emotionally and physically exhausted. By now Lovino was certain that he was a lost cause—that he was unfixable, irremediable. Everything seemed hopeless and gray again. If an experienced therapist couldn't cure him of his ailment, then no one could.

"Hey. Don't fret, Lovino. We just haven't found the right coping skills for you yet. Just come back to see me. I promise things will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not—"

"—The end, yeah, I've heard that quote before. Everyone has," he grumbled. With that, he was walking back to his house and staring at the rocky pavement as he went.

This was much harder than he had originally planned.


End file.
